


The Cold, Cold Night

by Yomz



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yomz/pseuds/Yomz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the doubts and fears Len can ignore during the day catch up to him in the artificial night of the time-ship.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>PLEASE heed the "past child abuse" tag, this fic jumps right into addressing it and it comes up again throughout; it's not shown graphically but it is very present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cold, Cold Night

**Author's Note:**

> Usually my angst has some fluff or at least a happy/hopeful ending, but no, the closest this gets is denial and cuddles. PLEASE heed the warnings.

Len wonders, sitting in the time-ship in the moments between the losses and the fights and the mission he’s almost certain will prove futile but it’s not like he has much to lose, what it would be like to truly get revenge. What it would be like to kill his father again, slowly, or with heat instead of ice, or with a bottle like the one he scarred Lisa with, or the knives he used on Len, or...

Or with all of them, slipping backward in time, killing Lewis a hundred times, a thousand, too many to count, one for every bruise he ever gave Lisa, every scar, every job he took Len on, every “lesson” it was impossible to learn, over and over until it was enough, until Len felt better. Or maybe until he just disappeared, until he reached the point at which Len wouldn’t grow up to be a criminal, a killer, a broken boy who can’t even let himself care about anyone but his sister even years later, all grown up but still just as broken.

He wonders what it’d be like, if he’d change, written over with a new timeline, if he’d even notice the difference, or if he’d disappear, no longer a criminal, no longer an asset to the mission, no longer useful with his new self living in blissful ignorance. Or maybe he’d stick around, shunted into the new timeline but not belonging to it, memories mocking him as a new Leo takes his insignificant little place in history.

He’s still wrapping his head around the time travel thing, asking Gideon for theory and fact and trying to understand just how screwed they really are, how horribly this is going to go wrong so he can plan for it, find the way out that lets him and Mick escape when it inevitably goes to hell.

He checks the timeline obsessively, asking Gideon every time they jump, a list of names and dates to run through with fear clenching at his throat. Lisa, Barry, Cisco, Trickster, Mark, Mick, his first heist, Lisa’s last show, the particle accelerator and lists of the dead. He doesn’t remember the stranger breaking into his home as a child, he knows his father was arrested trying to steal the emerald not selling it, and not for the first time he wonders what would happen to the rest of them if this goes the way he expects.

What will happen if they can’t change anything, or make it worse, or if they wind up lost, Rip dead or the ship destroyed or Gideon shut down, the team stranded in the past with no way to know the consequences of their actions.

Stay on the ship, hide, move to the middle of nowhere and don’t cause any trouble, try to live like the forgotten nobodies Rip’s admitted they’re supposed to be. It’s the only way to be sure, the only way he can think of to make sure their timeline survives if the worst comes to pass. He knows they can’t do it, not all of them.

Not Ray with his bleeding heart and his brilliance and that stubborn hero streak that demands he share both with the world. Not Dr. Stein and his need to teach, to share, to improve, to learn more and keep pushing the limits and to make things better everywhere he can. Jax might be able to, if he could tear himself away from the Doc, but of course not; the kid cares too much, and neither he nor the Doc could survive alone. Not Kendra, with her broken heart and the stubbornness of all those lifetimes, she’ll get herself killed seeking vengeance for her lover and their child.

Len wonders what it would be like to care so much, if it’s worth the pain when you lose everything.

Sara could do it, he thinks, could disappear into the shadows of history, find some shady corner where an assassin’s skills and a dead woman’s bloodlust would be welcome and live out the rest of her days. It’d be more difficult for Mick, but if a few more historic fires would be enough to ruin the timeline completely then Len’s not sure there’s any way to protect it.

He doesn’t know if he could do it. He’d like to think so, pretends to himself that he’d be fine, that he’d be content to settle down somewhere quiet and disappear, with nothing left to remember him by but a few unsolved thefts and a nice juicy target set up for Lisa to steal in the future. But that’s the problem. He’s already tried to change things, to stop Lewis from ever touching her and his younger self, but it didn’t work. They’re moving through time again, to the 80’s, and all he can think of is his baby sister. The dates and causes of every hospital trip, every time he and his sister “fell down the stairs” or “got in a fight at school” and every time dear old dad laughed away the doctors’ concerns, “You know how kids are,” Lewis chuckled, waving a hand as his other one left bruises on Len’s shoulder.

Len can sit back, bite his tongue while they’re moving, accept that he’s not in control of the ship’s course, accept his role as a passenger on this trip. He’s here as a tool in the arsenal, a pair of hands that can fit somewhere other people’s can’t, a thief and a murderer and a nobody that won’t be missed if he never makes it home. If he can get away with a trick or two along the way, well, that’s his business then, isn’t it. Len knows he probably won’t change anything, not without giving the game away, but he can sure as hell try. If he’s truly as forgotten as Rip’s said, then it shouldn’t matter if he screws up, if he changes the wrong thing and disappears.

It’d be harder to stop himself if he weren’t on the ship, to relive through every day of his past countries away, knowing exactly what was happening and why changing it would risk everything and to make the decision to stay away. It’d be so easy to slip, to find Lewis and stop him, to give Lisa a second chance at the Olympics and himself a chance at a real life. It’s be so simple to kill Wells before that stupid science fair project of his made his city a war zone, to say to hell with the timeline for such a petty reason as his own safety and a chance at happiness.

In the quiet darkness of his room and the artificial ‘night’ of the ship, he doesn’t think he could stop himself. Everyone on the ship knows they might not be able to stop Savage, but Len wonders if any of them realize the implications beyond that. They might die, but worse, they might live, escape Savage’s wrath only to destroy their own futures without any outside help at all, or pave the way for Savage’s takeover the way they only narrowly escaped doing when a single piece of Ray’s suit got left behind. They’re all operating so far outside of what they understand, and not even Len can see all the angles, the what-ifs and maybes and must-not-bes that he could never hope to anticipate.

Mick finds him sitting in the dark, shaking with anger -- with fear, but anger is easier -- brain racing beyond control with the possibilities and risks and potentials. He moves quietly and settles down next to Len, solid and present and warm and safe, and Len curls into himself, leaning against Mick with a barely-audible sigh and closing his eyes like it’ll stop the thoughts racing inside his head. Mick wraps his arms around Len protectively, rubbing his back until the shivers subside, and Len’s breath evens out slowly as he relaxes into the embrace.

Mick carries him to the bed, curling up behind him with an arm thrown over Len’s waist in the arrangement neither of them will admit has become familiar. Len settles against him, letting the warmth Mick always seems to radiate settle into him, letting the rhythm of Mick’s breath and heartbeat against his back chase away the doubts rushing through his mind until they’re mere whispers, easily locked away and safely ignored, and lets himself slip into an uneasy dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> And now bc I know I need fluff: Overcast Morning


End file.
